


Mixing Red and Blue

by eyesonchoi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Keith (Voltron), Attempt at Humor, College, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gay Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, M/M, Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Soft keith, Writer Lance (Voltron), im using humor lightly here bc I’m not good at jokes-, klance, sad keith, shiro did something but I’m too lazy to explain what, soft Lance, that’s a good tag, this is a pretty gay oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesonchoi/pseuds/eyesonchoi
Summary: Lance and Keith were neighbors, and most notable, friends. They had a simple routine: Get out of their apartments at the same time, go to the café that Lance’s friend Pidge worked at, people-watched while sipping their drinks, and then they went their separate ways to go to class or to their part-time jobs. It was simple, an everyday thing that they’ve been doing for months on end.Until Keith stopped showing up three days in a row.





	Mixing Red and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> i made this after season 6 and my klance heart was broken so i retaliated with this fic. :) 
> 
> there might be typos but like i went through this fic like 3 times for mistakes and grammatical errors so if there one feel free to roast me in the comments :)

Lance and Keith were neighbors, and most notable, friends. They had a simple routine: Get out of their apartments at the same time, go to the café that Lance’s friend Pidge worked at, people-watched while sipping their drinks, and then they went their separate ways to go to class or to their part-time jobs. It was simple, an everyday thing that they’ve been doing for months on end.

Until Keith stopped showing up three days in a row. Lance tried texting—there was no luck there.

Despite knowing only the basics of him, Lance enjoyed what they had in the morning, maybe even looked forward to it, even though they bickered and fought a lot; they were opposites. Keith despised Ariana Grande’s music and Lance would have Pidge change the generic lounge music to play some of Ariana’s greatest hits—just to spite him. Keith would complain and Lance would roll his eyes and nod his head to the beat as he drank his iced coffee.

It was Saturday morning and Lance walked out of his apartment and said goodbye to his sleepy roommate, Hunk. But as soon as he left he realized that he was going to be alone... again. It made his side feel cold when he looked at the closed apartment door in the hallway with the number 42–it was Keith’s.

Lance had a measly plan just then and left to the café; he ordered one iced coffee and a cup of earl grey tea.

“Hey, where are you going with that? To Keith?” Pidge questioned as Lance was about to leave.

“Yeah! I haven’t heard from him in some time so maybe if I bring café to him he’ll see that he’s missing out.” Lance grinned.

“Tell him I miss him, even if he is a furry!” She said, walking into the kitchen. Lance snickered and left for the apartment complex.

After a few knocks, you’d think someone would open the door. Keith certainly wasn’t that someone. _Maybe he’s dead._ Lance thought. _Great, I bought tea for a ghost._

“Um, Keith? If you’re there it’s me, Lance. You haven’t left your room in a while and I was just wondering if things are okay? I have tea! It’s your favorite—I think. But if you could open the door before I burn my fingers, that’d be—“

The door swung open and the person who opened it was a sad sight to see.

It was Keith. His eyes were puffy and red as if he were crying for countless hours, his mullet was now a lion’s mane and stuck out at odd places. He was wearing a t-shirt so big that it fit him like a dress with a band name etched in the center that was so ragged and worn that Lance couldn’t make out the words.

“Keith...” Lance tried to say something, but nothing came out. He’s been like this for _three_  days?

“I know. It’s bad but I’m trying.” Keith said, it was barely a whisper and sounded anything but Keith’s actual voice. It was broken and defeated, as if he got a sore throat after yelling for a while.

“Let me in.”

Keith opened the door wider and let Lance inside. The studio wasn’t as messy as Lance thought it would be. The apartment was one big space, the only door being to leave or to go to the bathroom. His bed was unkempt and the kitchen had empty pizza boxes lying on the counters and an opened box of cereal had spilled frosted corn flakes onto the floor. The television was on some discovery channel but it was muted and art history books cluttered the coffee table.

Lance sat on the couch and placed his coffee down on top of a lame looking book. Keith slowly followed, rubbing his eyes of any possible tears.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help.” He gave him the tea.

Keith sipped it and burned his tongue, scowling he said, “You didn’t have to do this, I was going to go with you tomorrow, I swear. I’m just tired.”

“Dude, you’re more than tired. And I’m not an idiot either, what’s wrong?”

The tingle on Keith’s tongue lingered on his tastebuds, he liked the feeling despite it hurting; to feel something after hours of brooding was refreshing.

He shared. “I don’t know, I just—I just had this argument with my brother and then things started piling up with school. Next thing you know I’m drowning, you know? I just needed to let go of some pent up feelings, that’s all.”

Keith spent time planning out what he’d say to Lance, he felt obligated to, he was his morning for the last few months after all.

And Lance was so warm-looking it was hard not to open up. His voice was buttery, his eyes were so wide and bright that it made Keith’s hurt, and his university hoodie fit him loosely so he rolled up his sleeves every so often and it made him look smaller than he really was. He was sweet and kind, too, when he wasn’t busy trying to be obnoxious and pretentious.

“Do you want a hug?” Lance asked, a soft smile on his lips.

Keith paled.

“No... Lance—Lance no!”

He tried to stop it but it was too late, Lance had put the tea Keith was holding on the table and leaned in, wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck.

Keith hated how good it felt and how he let it happen, groaning in Lance’s shoulder he didn’t hug back—unfortunately—Lance didn’t seem to care.

He smelled like coconuts and coffee, of course he’d smell like that—all sweet and comforting. Keith probably smelled like ten cans of bounce that ass.

“If you think I’m going to cry in your arms, I’m not, so stop patting my back like you’re burping me.”

There was one major flaw in Keith, and it was his constant need to keep his reputation. Even if he looked like an emo tween who just got their phone taken away, he wasn’t about to _cry_ in front of someone like Lance.

“Hey man, girls used to pay ten bucks to get a handshake from me! You’re lucky we’re friends.” Lance pulled away, “When was the last time you showered by the way?” The bounce that ass smell was kicking in.

“I dunno. Days.”

“ _Days_?”

Keith blinked. Was that a problem? He didn’t smell _that_  bad, did he?

“That’s it, I’m not leaving you here to stink up the place. Go shower and look presentable.”

“Bu—“

“Go.”

“H-“

“ _Go_.”

“Fine!” Keith huffed, he took clothes with him because he is not going to make things awkward by coming out in his towel. He could already hear Lance say something along the lines of ‘you got pepperoni nipples’.

While looking at himself in the mirror he found himself clouded in sadness. Of all people, Lance had to be the one to check on him with his stupid questions and his dumb concerns and comforting hugs and cute eyes. It made Keith want to flush himself down the toilet because no matter how much he wanted to not like him, he was moonstruck.

It started when they started getting closer. Their shoulders brushed against each other, small talk became conversations, insults became honeyed words, and eventually Keith realized the situation his heart put him in.

When he came back from the bathroom wearing sweats and a ripped t-shirt (His brother told him that it made him look edgy countless times), Lance was in the middle of cleaning his kitchen. His bed was made and the T.V. was turned off.

“Did you clean my apartment while I was showering?” Keith grumbled, trying to find his hair ties in his dresser.

Lance threw something away and walked into the living room, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Keith scoffed as he made a small ponytail that sat upright on his head, it kept his bangs out of the way.

“That’s real rich coming from you—playing dumb is _my_  thing. Not yours.”

Lance’s face softened, causing Keith to furrow his brows. “Got something to say?”

“No need to get all defensive, I just thought you looked kinda...”

“Kinda what?” Keith narrowed his eyes, waiting for some sort of insult.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Lance sighed, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I’m doing amazing.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith crossed his arms and looked down at the hard wood floor. “I’m going to see him, my brother, in a few hours.”

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Lance offered.

“I already told you all there is to know, this is as honest as I’m getting.” He sounded more rough than he wanted to.

“Okay, okay. I get it—I’ll give you your space.” Lance turned towards the door.

“Wait, I’m sorry.”

Keith chewed his lip for a moment. “Do you think that... you could hug me again?” He didn’t realize how much he actually needed it.

Lance gave a lopsided grin, “Come here,” his arms opened and Keith didn’t contemplate hugging back this time. He closed his eyes and just focused on the feeling and let go of the intrusive thoughts paining him.

“Are you going to cry in my arms this time?” Lance asked.

“Only if you keep talking.”

So much for keeping his reputation.

 

*******

 

  
It was Sunday afternoon now, a full day after the whole intervention thing Lance put upon Keith and they hadn’t spoke since, which was normal, they never spoke after the mornings anyway.

Hunk was in the middle of making fun of Lance when Keith showed up.

“What did you do?” Hunk asked before mocking Lance with an irritatingly high voice, “Locked eyes with him and swooned into his arms? _Oh Keith, what ever will I do now that you’re not there to drink with me. Oh, the despair_!” He flopped on their couch, ever so dramatically.

“Don’t you have _work_?” Lance said, “Something tells me you’re going to be extra late if you don’t go now.”

“Your threats are weak, but if I must, I’ll go. Maybe next time you shouldn’t leave your diary open.”

Lance’s face was pink right about now. “IT’S NOT A DIARY. IT’S A PERSONAL JOURNAL.”

“Isn’t that the definition of a diary?”

“It isn’t! It’s just a writing journal. I write about random stuff, nothing meaningful.”

“And you write meaningless drafts about Keith’s eyes and that weird scar on his face and how he smells like tea and peaches? Not a hint of meaning?”

“See? Now you’re getting it. It’s hard being an english major, just let me do what I want without it being weird or something.”

Hunk got up from the couch and patted Lance on the shoulder, “Love is love.”

“Oh, shut—“ There was a knock at the door.

It was no other than Keith, who looked way better than yesterday: ripped jeans, a beanie that somehow made the party end of his mullet stand out, a white shirt that was strategically tucked in everywhere but the side. His lips were pursed, like he was nervous about something.

Lance suddenly felt out of place, he was literally just talking about him and now he had to pretend he wasn’t just caught red-handed with a diary talking about Keith and, as Hunk liked to put it, his _orbs_. Lance hated that word—he didn’t even say anything about his eyes!

Not that it mattered, he didn’t even know why he wrote about Keith in the first place; at least until he saw him in person again, then a voice in the back of his head said _you’re savoring the way it felt to be with him_.

With the way his eyes reminded him of a puppy’s, how his eyebrow cocked when he was so sure of himself, the sound of his crisp voice, and his delicate hands that constantly clashed against the fingerless gloves he’d wear, who would blame Lance for writing about it? It wasn’t _his_ fault Keith was so pretty.

“Keith! Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you’d be off doing... whatever it is you do at this time.” Lance fumbled his words, he could feel Hunk’s eyes on them—maybe even heard a snicker if he wasn’t so nervous.

“I wanted to talk.” His eyes focused on Lance’s. They didn’t look like they had been through hours of crying—they were dark and glowering at Lance, as if he was doing something wrong just by standing there.

Lance was about to say something when Keith thinned his lips. “Right! Uh, Hunk? I’m gonna go somewhere. I’ll be back.”

They said goodbye to each other. Keith didn’t say anything, he was too anxious.

Back at Keith’s apartment, it looked different than it was before. The window blinds were open, letting warm sunlight leak onto the walls and floor. An easel—a painting easel—was projected near the living room area, a blank canvas placed on it. There were many filled canvases all around though. Some of the paintings being too abstract to decipher.

“Last night after I spoke to Shiro, I thought about working on my art studies to help get over my emotions. It did, but it just made me angry. I was really mad about everything.” Keith felt embarrassed mentioning it and now that someone else was here he felt like the room was a mess and started picking up some used canvases and tried to sort them.

“So you painted out your frustrations?” Lance asked, picking up one of the paintings. It didn’t look like it was made out of anger. It was green and blue, all mixed around like a distorted landscape of a forest and a river. “This is pretty nice, Keith.”

“Hm?” Keith looked up and Lance flipped the painting over to show him, “Oh yeah. I don’t know what I was going for with that one. Y-you don’t think it’s weird?”

“Why should it be weird? It’s the embodiment of your feelings, stick it to the man!” Lance raised the painting over his head. “Besides, we all need a way to express ourselves. Words can only say so much, you know?”

“You’re just full of wise words, aren’t you?” Keith asked rhetorically, “Anyway, I need your help.”

“With?”

“I have to do a few anatomical studies. I was wondering... Could you be my muse?” Keith glanced sheepishly at Lance and then back down to where he was sorting his paints.

Lance gulped. “You want me, to like—“

“I’m going to stop you there before you embarrass yourself. I only have to draw your face a few times.”

Lance’s shoulder relaxed.

“I’d be honored!” He placed the painting down and simpered, “You owe me one, though.”

“Owe you? You don’t even have to stay here! Just send me photos of your face if you’re going to do me dirty.”

“Then why can’t you look up some random photos of a face, why mine?”

“Because!” Keith exasperated.

It hurt him how dense Lance was.

Lance smirked, “You just want my company.”

 _Obviously_.

“Yeah, right.” Keith blushed as he glared at Lance. “I just need someone and you’re the nearest person.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah and besides... talking to you is better than painting a dozen abstracts.”

It was Lance’s turn to feel flushed. “Um, what do you want me to do again?”

Keith cleared his throat, “So could you actually stay? I only need a rough draft.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m all yours.”

The first few hours after made Keith feel way better compared to the last few days. Lance wasn’t the best model though: he just couldn’t stay still while Keith was sketching and ended up looking the complete opposite direction of where Keith wanted him to pose, all because he wanted to watch cartoons (“Spongebob is on!”) and don’t get started on him playing no other than Ariana Grande on the bluetooth speaker (“Why did I even tell you I had one?!”). Aside from the downfall of any hint of Lance’s modeling career, Keith got to pay attention to his crush’s face.

His skin reminded him of caramel and his freckles dotted across his cheeks like constellations; his blue eyes were like tiny skies, and the way his eyebrows knitted together whenever he said anything remotely clever made Keith’s paint-stained hands clammy. It was when he had to draw Lance’s lips he couldn’t concentrate.

He dropped his paint brush as he got lost in thought.

“Dropped something.” Lance snorted.

“Thanks, what would I do without you?” Keith retorted.

He didn’t to mean to, but he was staring somewhat longingly at Lance’s bottom lip.

“What are you doing?” Lance said, pulling Keith out of his trance.

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I’m trying to see how I can draw your lips.”

“Ah,” he licked his lips on purpose.

“Don’t _do_  that!” Keith spluttered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

After a minute of awkward tension between the two, Lance tried to alleviate the problem the best way he could: he started to take off his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” Keith questioned.

Lance straightened his baseball shirt, “ _It’s gettin’ hot in here_!” He sang, “ _So take off all your clothes_!”

Keith frowned, “It’s official, you’re annoying.”

“Says you—all you do is yell at me every time I breathe! What do you want from me?” He scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Keith mumbled under his breath as he picked up his brush.

Lance perked up, “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Keith said flatly. Lance wasn’t convinced and got up from his seat to Keith’s set-up.

“Wow, this looks really good.” Lance was taking in the artwork, eyeing the canvas like some rich art critic.

It was mostly base colors of different facial features and a space untouched because that’s where the lip study was supposed to go. Keith started on the sketch but it was nothing more than a Cupid’s bow.

“It’s not close to being done, but thanks.” Keith huffed.

He cleaned his hands on a towel and studied his work for any ideas on how to actually go on with this. Keith was just about to say something when something wet and smooth dragged across his forehead. Paint.

“ _Simba_.” Lance whispered, before backing away.

“LANCE!” Keith yelled, stumbling off his stool.

Lance was already halfway across the room, his fingers dripping red paint onto the floor—Keith was going to kill him.

“YOU’RE GETTING IT ALL OVER THE PLACE!” Keith pointed at the red drops on the floor.

“THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!” Lance made a fist with his hands, trying to keep the paint from dripping.

Keith took a deep breath. “Get back here and clean this up!”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Wh—I don’t have time for this. I’m not playing any of these games.”

Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischievous intent. Keith never saw anything like it before. It was annoying and childish, yet somehow endearing. Of course, he knew he wasn’t winning, so he’ll just join it.

Squeezing blue paint into his hand, Keith looked up at Lance, who was suspiciously grinning at him.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any time?”

“You’re going to regret this, asshole.”

“If anyone is going to regret anything it’s going to be you for wearing a white shirt.”

“Touché.” Keith said and ran off towards Lance.

It was an odd dance. Swipes of red and blue, somewhere they lost count on who was winning. They were wrestling with no end goal, just painting themselves in bright pigments. Lance stole the tube of red paint and splattered the contents all over Keith’s clothes, even his hair and face were covered in splotches. Lance was no different, his blue baseball shirt was increasingly becoming more vibrant. His freckles were covered in paint and it complimented his eyes.

At first Keith was angry and wanted to retaliate. Now all he wanted to do was laugh at the damage he caused.

“Stop squirming!” Keith demanded, his hands were intertwined with Lance’s—if either of them let go it would be easy access for the other to attack.

Lance’s expression went slack, “Hey, wait. I hear someone at the door.”

Keith turned his head—rookie mistake. Lance took his blue-red stained hand (the American flag is quaking) and swiped it across Keith’s mouth.

“God, you’re gullible.” Lance snorted.

“And you’re annoying!” Keith turned his head back at his Lance’s and swiped paint on _his_  mouth.

“So I’ve heard for the hundredth time today.” He mumbled, looking up at Keith. “You look good from this angle though so it’s worth the complaints.”

Keith was straddling Lance on the couch and now that he was aware of it he should’ve moved off. He didn’t. Instead, he focused on Lance in all his painted glory. The red paint masked his flustered face as he studied him.

“Are you flirting—you’re flirting with me?” Keith swiped paint off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 _He always had no idea what Keith is talking about_.

Lance lifted up his hand and wiped paint off Keith’s cheek, letting his hand stay for a while.

Keith smiled. “This is the part when I say thank you.”

“What for? I haven’t done anything.”

“Yeah you have,” He chortled. “You make me want to jump over the moon.”

Lance’s ears turned red. “It’s those fumes from the paint, you’re probably getting high. I’ve never seen you this giddy.”

“That’s because you bother me to no end.”

Keith leaned closer, cupping Lance’s face in his hands. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re an amazing person and actually care about me. I don’t like showing my emotions, but I feel like when I’m with you that could change.”

“Oh, worm?” The writer beamed. “Tell me more about how you really feel.”

_I feel like you make me a better person, that if you’re by my side I could conquer the entire world. I’ve liked you for months and every time I think about you I just want to melt because you’re a burning star and I’m just a comet passing by. You’re a force to be reckoned with, you’re strong, witty, beautiful, and all I want to do is learn to love you._

“Eh, I like you I guess.” Keith confessed, his heart beating faster than ever. “I’m not as good with words as I am with painting... I can say that I painted over a masterpiece today though.”

Lance held onto Keith’s forearms. “In that case,” his voice became soft, “Would you mind making that masterpiece purple?”

Keith was puzzled for a moment. “Purple? Oh wait, I get it! You’re blue and I’m—“

Lance pulled Keith down and pressed their lips together before he could finish his dense statement.

It was the oddest first kiss, it tasted like paint which wasn’t the best taste. Neither of them cared, it still felt good. They almost didn’t stop, the moment was too perfect.

Purple found it’s way on their hair, their hands, and their necks. It trailed from Keith’s scar to Lance’s chest; it started to taste like coffee and earl grey; it started to smell like coconuts and peaches; the pages of Lance’s writing journal was being torn from his brain and Keith’s canvases became rotten because nothing in them compared to this experience.

Lance was breathless. “Now that I think about it, I like you too I guess.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Kinky.”

Keith sighed. What did he get himself into?

**Author's Note:**

> :^) hope u enjoyed, season 7 better give us what we deserve.


End file.
